


Nobody Can Drag Me Down

by louisniall



Series: made in the am [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Superheroes, Supervillains, okay the "major character death" thing is only KIND of true, this is like my ONLY fic without smut what is wrong with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisniall/pseuds/louisniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a powerless human who is known to be the source of all superpowers in Earth. To end all conflicts, heroes are out to kill him. Meanwhile, the villains protect him. </p><p>Harry is one of those heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Can Drag Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi!!
> 
> oh god i havent posted a fic in SO SOOOOOO long like i think my last one was in april of 2015 thats nearly a year at this point but GOodneSS
> 
> this fic is a fill for [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3yy1dr/wp_you_are_a_powerless_human_who_is_known_to_be/) . thank you to des and linda for being my beautiful betas while i wrote this and nearly deleted half of it :)

Dust. It’s truly all Louis can see. Dust, dirt, sand—it’s a rather poor view from his bedroom window, but he supposes it’s better than fire, or excessive water, or dead people. It’s not like he  _ likes _ the barren wasteland outside his window. The thing is, he fucking  _ hates _ it. But considering it’s the norm for him, he can’t exactly go out there and ask to plant a pansy garden and some cauliflower. No, he’s aware he’s stuck with this shithole, and while his heart aches to change it, he really can’t.

A knock sounds on his door, and he turns just in time to see Niall trot into his room. “Hey soldier,” he says, playing with the bottom of his t-shirt. “Anything new?”

Louis shrugs, feeling Niall’s powers tug at his heart. “Nah. Same old dust. No one flying into slaughter me or anything.”

“You’re too cute to kill,” Niall says. “Too cute.”

“Don’t let Zayn here you say that, dipshit.”

Niall snorts. “If Zayn heard me say that, he could easily start World War 3 with the snap of his fingers.” Louis snorts and nods.

“That’s horrifyingly true,” he says, looking back out to the dirty landscape that he studies day to day.

He feels Niall moving closer, most likely itching for a recharge, and Louis turns around fully to see the boy is only an inch or two away from him. “I—shit. I’m, I— I need—” Niall stutters, his hands flying  to cover his middle, as if he has to hold in the contents of his stomach.

Louis chuckles and opens his arms. “C’mere.”

Niall rushes in, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders, heat beginning to exchange between them. Every time Louis does this, he feels weak for a moment, his world begins to spin, and voices flash around his head. He usually chooses to ignore them, like now, and instead focuses on the heat transferring from him to Niall, and how quickly Niall moves away once he’s finished getting his fill. 

“Thanks bud,” Niall says, walking backwards towards the door. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Louis raises his eyebrows as a thanks and grimaces, wincing as Niall slams the door shut and locks him inside.

Once he’s sure Niall’s gone, he reaches under his mattress for the little brown book he keeps there, and opens it to the first page.

It’s hard to read, being that he began writing when he was nine, but he reads it anyway, for the comfort and memories.

_ June 14, 2001 _

_ Dear  _ _ diary  _ _ journal, _

_ I’m Louis! Hi! But I guess you already know that considering I’m the only one who’s going to read this. But I once spoke to a dog, and maybe paper can speak too, so hi! _

_ This isn’t really a happy day for me. I turn ten this year, that’s cool and all, but I’ve just said goodbye to my mother, and it might be the last time I see her forever. Let me explain. _

_ This man with big arms and a tattoo as big as my head tried to kill me yesterday. Yeah, with his gun and spear and everything, he right barged into my room and held a gun to my head. It was up there with nearly cutting my hand off as one of the worst experiences of my life. So then these two other guys barged in and pulled him off me, and then there was a hole in my ceiling because the guy who tried to kill me just shot through it and flew away, just like that. The two men who helped me eased my mother’s worry for a bit, I think, but she was still hyperventilating when they left. _

_ The men said this: they said that I’m a powerless human and I am the source of all superpowers on earth. They said that when I turn ten, the good guys will be able to track me down and kill me, because some weird stuff inside me starts to develop. They want to kill me because villains can take power from me that would aid their destruction. But the thing is, the villains protect me. But if they don’t, I’ll die. So there’s that. But when my mum asked how they get the power from me, they shrugged. They said power is taken from me almost constantly, from goods and evils fighting each other like in comic books and tv shows, yeah, it’s all real. But a villain will get the ultimate power if they come in direct contact with me and take the  power that way. They said it’s bad for my health, but the villains would love to get to do that, to take the most power from me that they can and become supervillains. They don’t know how that good guy found me today, but they think it’s because I’m premature, whatever that means. _

_ Then they told my mum that they’d like to keep me safe in a secret location. They told her it was either keep me safe or let me die. My mum hugged me tight for a really long time, kissing the top of my head, before she finally said okay. Me and mum went out for dinner, she gave me a bunch of things to remember her by, like my baby book and pictures of us together with  my sisters and her favorite pair of socks, and then she looked me in the eyes and told me to be safe and come back to her alive when I can. I started crying and boys  _ _ never _ _ cry, but I love my mum and I didn’t want to leave her. _

_ But now I’m on this really tiny plane, with thick walls and a loud motor, and we’re flying over mountains in what I think is Spain or France or something, and it’s really pretty, but I don’t know where they’re taking me and all I can think about is that fact that if I want to stay alive, I have to help the bad guys. It’s kind of funny that I have a favorite superhero, then. (It’s Spider Man. He’s  _ _ awesome _ _!) _

_ \- Louis (age 9) _

Louis shuts the book, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes to get rid of the stupid tears that have built up there. Ever since that fateful day, he’s been locked in this godforsaken room for… fifteen years, or just about. On cue, when he turned ten, he heard fighting outside and an axe went right through his door. There was screaming and shouting until there was only silence, and then there were people in his room telling him that it would be okay and that he’s safe with them.

Louis shuts his journal, filled to the brim with tearstained pages and angry scribbles, and shoves it back under his mattress. He lays down on his bed, pulls the covers over his shoulders, and attempts to take a nap, but is startled when Niall barges in again.

He knows Niall means well. Niall was brought in to help protect Louis when he was fatally defeated by Flame, a superhero who can control fire and uses it for good (which is what Louis is told, anyways). Niall (who was called Hex, and could create electromagnetic pulses that could knock out electricity or technology for hours upon hours, and could also summon the dead to fight for him) was burned so badly that he can’t use his right leg anymore, and has a horrific limp, the poor boy. So, he was downgraded to protector status and sometimes sneaks in beer for Louis on what Louis assumes to be Friday.

But as much as Niall is disabled, he still helps with villain activities. From time to time, Niall comes in whooping, telling Louis he knocked out technological aids in Tel Aviv, and all Louis can think of is all the people he’s killing who needed life support. But it’s not like Niall has a choice, he was born to be evil. But Louis doesn’t know what Niall wants from him. Niall often comes in just to gain some power, because since he’s disabled he loses power much more quickly than the average supervillain. But other times, Niall comes in just to have a chat, to give Louis a friend in this shitty place. And then Niall is gone again, just like that. It’s the same with Zayn.

Zayn’s not disabled or anything, just super smart. Zayn’s villain name is Beast.  He can manipulate animals into doing whatever he needs them to do (Louis once heard a story of him getting a salamander to commit actual manslaughter with a chainsaw). Zayn is one of those rare cases where he was born evil but hates it. But he can’t change who he is. Louis’ room has a few of Zayn’s paintings, of places Zayn’s had to go, like to Florida and Ireland and Russia. Louis’ favorite painting is of the front of his own house. Zayn painted that for him when the crew had to go to England for a job. Zayn made sure he stopped in Yorkshire and took a picture, and painted it for Louis to have so he could remember. He knows Zayn is too soft to kill anyone, but when he has to, he does. So Zayn mostly just stays at the base, keeping Louis safe and in check, and offering the occasional shoulder to cry on and friend to laugh with.

He opens his eyes as Niall’s shutting the door, locking it with his special key, turning around with two beers in hand. “Thought you could use a nice brew, mate.”

Louis sits up and smiles sheepishly, taking the open bottle from Niall’s hand and immediately downing a quarter, the harsh taste stinging his throat. “Thanks,” he says, setting the bottle down on his duvet-clad thigh. “I did.” Niall takes a long drink and swallows loudly, a sound Louis has grown to just live with, and then burps. “Niall?”

Niall looks over at him. “Yeah mate?”

“What month is it?”

“November.”

“What day?”

Niall looks up at the ceiling, his forehead scrunched in thought. “Twenty-seventh, I think.”

Louis nods. Just under a month until his twenty-fourth birthday. The big two-four. Most likely another year where no one remembers but Zayn. He feels like just a dipshit, honestly. Like, he’s been an adult for years now, he’s pretty sure he could take care of himself in the outside world.

He thinks that often, really. But then he remembers the nights where some of the villains who are protecting him are howling for nights on end in pain, nearly being murdered  to protect his life. Louis knows if he so much as stuck a pinky out of the window in his room, it would get chopped right off by a good guy waiting to end his life. He wouldn’t stand a chance, but he wishes he would. 

“Why?”

“What?” Louis asks, looking back at Niall.

“Why’d you ask the date?”

Louis clears his throat. “My birthday is, like, less than a month away.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks, his cheeks turning red, most likely as he realises he’s never once wished Louis a happy birthday. “When?”

“December 24th,” Louis says, his heart warming then sinking at the thought of his birthday. “Christmas Eve.”

Every year for nine years his mum would walk him down their snowy, gravelly road to the post office, and together they’d check their mailbox for letters from Santa wishing him a happy birthday, and every year they’d find one there, waiting in it’s red envelope. Louis believed in Santa until his tenth birthday, when he asked the villains to send his letter to Santa, asking him to be let free. 

Louis finishes his beer and hands Niall the empty bottle, letting Niall rest his hand on Louis’ shoulder a little too long to be considered friendly, the heat transferring into Niall quickly and painlessly. When Niall finishes, he waves goodbye and locks the door behind him.

***

Louis wakes to a loud, thunderous sound outside that he knows in the pit of his stomach  _ isn’t _ thunder. He sits upright in bed, rubbing his eyes as light flashes outside. A ball of fire whizzes past his window, and Louis supposes he should just go back to sleep, since his window is some weird glass that has been proven not to break for 15 years.

Sometimes Louis wonders where he got this terrible curse from. From the few books in his tiny bookshelf, he’s learned that when the possessor of the power passes away, the power is transferred on to the child next birthed into the world, wherever he or she may be. The book was published in 1963, which means he has no idea who gave him his curse, but he knows that the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, had the curse at the time, and was shot in 1963 (however it was not by a superhero, it just happened to be some random man who shot the president. A powerholder must be killed by a superhero to break the curse completely. The curse has clearly not yet been broken.)

The thunderous noise sounds again, this time louder, as if it’s getting closer. This time Louis wakes up and faces the window, watching as every few seconds something flies past his window, whether it be debris or fire or a body. He’s grown used to these wars over his right to live. They used to scare him, but at this point they just fascinate him, knowing that there are men and women fighting over him.

He doesn’t know when he drifts off to sleep, but when he wakes up, the fighting is over and everything is silent except for the pitter patter of rain on the roof. Louis sits up in bed, rubs his eyes, and jumps when someone next to him clears his throat.

He turns and thankfully it’s Zayn, sitting in a folding chair Louis keeps in the corner of his room for the occasional visitor, drawing on a sketch pad. “Hey mate,” Zayn says.

Louis nods, and leans over to see what Zayn is doodling. Zayn tilts his pad away from Louis’ view, then promptly closes it. “We got invaded today.”

“So I heard,” Louis says. “What happened?”

Zayn shrugs. He uncrosses his legs and slumps in his chair, blowing a piece of hair out of his face. “Like, a whole herd of supers just, like, attacked. It was mad. Niall was hanging out a fuckin’ window, doing the best he could, and as much as I hated it I wounded a few. A few of the bads were killed, and a few of the goods too. But not as much. And then they kind of just all flew away at once, like they were being summoned by some higher power.”

As soon as Zayn says it, Louis clutches his stomach as an agonizing pain shoots through him, right through his bones, piercing his heart and making every thud feel like living hell. He falls forward, nearly bent right in half, and shuts his eyes, willing for the pain to pass.

“Louis?” Zayn asks, putting a hand on his back. Louis shakes his head, slow, clenching his teeth as the unbearable pain pumps through his veins. “Shit,” he hears Zayn whisper. The hand is gone, and the door slams, the lock clicking into place as Zayn’s footsteps thunder through the base, his voice shouting at nothing.

Louis isn’t sure when he’s officially blacked out, but a voice starts speaking to him sometime after he’s fallen asleep.

_ You’re trusting the wrong people _ , the voice, deep and languid, says.  _ You need to trust the good. _

Louis figures if it’s in his head, he can speak back.  _ The goods have been trying to kill me! _

The voice laughs, almost happily.  _ How do you know? You’ve never actually seen the good and bad in action. Maybe that was a bad trying to kill you. Maybe the bads took you in to slowly kill you, and the goods are trying to get you out. Maybe _ —

“Don’t listen to it!” A man says, bursting into his room. “Don’t you fucking listen to that voice in your head!” 

Suddenly the pain is whipped away, and he’s back in his room. He sits up and opens his eyes to people standing around him, some with guns, others with cups of coffee, and a large man standing in front of him. “D’you hear me, Tomlinson? Do not, under  _ any _ fucking circumstances, listen to the voice in your head. Got it?”

Louis, thoroughly terrified, nods his head and itches his ankle with the toes of his other foot. The people slowly exit his room, and he glimpses Niall’s blond head and Zayn’s quick one, before the last person leaves, and—

The door doesn’t lock. He’d know that sound from a mile away. He’s heard it millions of times, the unmistakable click of the lock. But this time, the click was absent.

Louis hasn’t known anything outside of his room and the blank, concrete wall right outside his door. He’s glimpsed the wall dozens of times as his educators came in and left when he was a teenager, when Niall and Zayn come in, kitchen staff, and the occasional base leader coming in to make sure he’s more or less updated on the current situation. But beyond that, he knows nothing.

So he swings his legs off the bed and slips on his shoes, kicking his feet into them as he walks cautiously to the door. He grasps the knob with his hand, letting the cool metal warm under his hand for some time, before he turns the knob and pulls.

The door swings open and he steps out into the hallway. He finds that it's entirely void and blank just like the part of the hallway Louis has glimpsed before. The hall goes on for a few metres before it ends on one side and opens to a small staircase, then continues for another metre and ends at a small window. For a moment he thinks going anywhere near the staircase will get his food taken away for a month, but his curiosity gets the best of him and he shuffles towards it anyways.

The stairway is long, he finds out. It has six landings before he reaches the bottom, and he stumbles out into a large floorplan much like a stage. It’s empty save for a deadbolted door. Off to the right is what he assumes to be the kitchen, and to the left is a single door, a red light shining through the bottom. To the left, on the same wall as the stairs, is another set of stairs, presumably leading down to the basement. And that’s when he hears it.

The unmistakable wail of a grown man, screaming his heart out. Screaming to be let free. And the worst part is he knows the voice.

It’s the voice that was in his head not ten minutes earlier.

Louis darts his eyes back and forth, searching for possible humans that could kill him or send him back to his room, before he inches out and grasps the corner of the wall where the staircase begins. He peers around to find nothing but a staircase (as if there was going to be a fucking clown or something). He lets out a shaky breath before jogging down the stairs as quietly as possible.

These stairs are not as long, only two landings before he reaches the bottom. And when he does, his breath escapes him as he’s stunned by what he sees and what he smells.

Before him is a literal prison. Cells line the wall opposite him and presumably next to him. There are only a few filled with poor, rotting men, wasting away in the bowels of the base. He stretches his neck and peers next to him, finding that the cell directly next to him is filled, and as he looks the person within howls and Louis shivers. It’s the man who spoke to him in his head. 

He steps out fully, hearing the hisses of the few other people in their cells, probably sensing his presence nearby. For once he feels a tug in his gut as they attempt to pull power from him, but can’t as they’re probably trapped behind an anti-power field or something of the sort.

He steps to the left in front of the cell where the man is housed. The cell is drab, with a small, lumpy bed and a terribly dirty toilet. The man is sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, his head tilted back, his eyes closed rather peacefully for someone who just screamed. “I can feel you near me.”

Louis jumps, terrified that the voice he heard in his head now comes from a mouth. He waits for the man to say more, examining him as he does. He can’t be much older than Louis himself. He has long, dark hair that curls at the bottoms, a rather large nose, but it suits him. He’s lanky, long, and very pale, and his voice sounds like it should be in a man of greater bulk, not this one who probably weighs less than one stone. 

As soon as Louis is finished looking at the man, the man’s eyes open, and Louis can feel the cold behind them. They’re green, a green that he always thought lived on the Irish cliffs that his mother had a picture of on the fridge. They’re lifeless, and they look like they want to slaughter Louis. 

“You,” the man says, his voice deep and capturing as ever. The man uncrosses his legs and stands, slowly moving towards the bars as Louis takes a step back.

“You’re Louis,” the man says. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

“I had no part in that, sir,” Louis says, backing up until bars hit his back. He turns quickly to make sure the cell is empty, and lets out a shaky, relieved breath when he determines it is.

“I was sent to kill you,” the man says. “I failed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Louis offers.

The man spits on the ground. “Fucking bads. They think all the goods want to do is kill you. I was  _ sent _ here to kill you. Doesn’t mean I was going to do it.”

Louis blinks. “Pardon?”

The man and him lock eyes, land clashing with sea. “I was sent by the goods to kill you, but I never said I would actually kill you.”

Louis takes a step closer. “Why not?”

“I’ve never killed a soul in my life,” the man says. He extends his hand. “Shadow, by the way.”

Louis doesn’t shake the outstretched hand, just lets it fall back to it’s owner's’ side. “Why haven’t you killed anyone?”

Shadow shrugs. “I was born a good, but I’m not made out for fighting crime. My fucking superpower is hiding in the shadows. It’s stupid as fuck. I can’t kill anyone. I never have and I never will.”

“You can hide in the shadows?”

The man smiles. He steps back into the shadow the light casts on the bed and sticks his hand in, and it disappears. He slowly sits down on the bed until his torso and upper thighs are gone, but the rest of his body is visible. Louis’ eyes shoot to his forehead. “Impressed?”

Louis first wants to nod, almost wants to give this man a standing ovation—but he shakes himself out of if, remembering this man is in jail for a reason. “My friend can disable electronics hundreds of miles away with the flick of his wrist.”

Shadow laughs, a loud, full bellied cackle that echoes throughout the chasm. “Your friend? Is that right? You think he actually likes you, or does he like your power?”

Louis swallows, his true fears coming to the surface. “He thinks I’m funny.”

Shadow laughs again and returns to the bars, his long fingers wrapping around the cold metal cylinders. “I can guarantee you that if you were a vegetable who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life, this kid would still treat you like a best friend because you’re the source of his livelihood. You’re so fucking ignorant,” Shadow spits, sitting down on his bed. “Fucking child.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “You’re the one talking, you fucking overgrown baby.”

Shadow’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile inching across his face. “February first, 1994,” is all he says, laying smugly back against the concrete wall, his legs disappearing in the shadow.

Louis smirks. “December 24th,” Louis says, putting a defeated pout on his face, only to lift it at the last second as, “1991,” left his lips.

Shadow’s smile faltered, his cheeks turning a beet red. “What was that, fucking child?” Louis asks. “You may have seen more of the world than me, but I have a little more experience with friendship than you probably do, locked up in a fucking prison cell.”

Louis doesn’t know when he got so close to the bars, but too quickly a pair of hands scrunch in his t-shirt, and his body is flush against the hard metal bars, Shadow’s face inches from his. “You fucking watch what you say, asshole. I swear to God, I  _ will _ be the good that kills you.”

Louis’ heart is pumping fast. He can feel Shadow’s hands tightening in his shirt, and a faint glint of red glows behind his pupils.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing down here?!”

Both heads turn towards a guard, who is angrily storming towards the both of them. He lifts a hand, a blue light shooting out of his palm and then white hot pain shoots through Louis as he’s flung into the bars behind him, Shadow flung into the metal bedframe. 

For the second time, Louis is yanked up by his shirt and pulled up the stairs, the guard speaking frantically into his radio all the while.

Louis is thrown back into his room, the door slammed loudly and the familiar click of the lock ringing in his otherwise hurting ears. He sits down on his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. He kicks off his shoes and lays back in his bed—

He contains a scream as a hand is placed over his mouth and Shadow’s eyes blink with his.

Louis bites hard on the man’s palm and Shadow pulls it away with a yelp, quickly silencing himself as the pair hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Fuck,” Shadow whispers. He looks at Louis. “I won’t be gone long.”

The door opens and shouting and cursing and terrifying lights and zings ensue, and then Shadow is gone and Louis is alone again. It’s just him, his bookshelf, his window, and a bowl of uneaten oatmeal from the kitchen still sitting on the floor by the door.

***

The first thing Louis hears is birds chirping. Or, what he assumes is birds chirping. He hasn’t heard the noise in fifteen years. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes and sniffling a bit, letting his hands fall down onto his duvet, his eyes slowly opening.

His heart jumps into his throat as Shadow is sat on the edge of his bed, a small box emitting the bird noises. “Morning sunshine.”

“How—how…” Louis trails off, staring mesmerized as Shadow taps the screen of the box, and then presses a button on the side and it shuts off. “What is that?”

Shadow furrows his eyebrows. “Its… an iPhone? Have you never seen one or something?”

Louis shakes his head. “I haven’t seen anything but these walls since 2001.”

Shadow’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “2001?”

“Fifteen years,” Louis says, his fingers playing with his blanket. “Or, close to it, I suppose.”

Shadow eases himself off of Louis’ bed, heading towards the folding chair. He grabs it and sets it up next to Louis’ bedside. “Have you ever watched TV?”

Louis snorts. “I was born in 1991, of course I’ve watched TV.” Louis pauses, looking at Shadow curiously. “How did you get in here?  _ Why _ are you in here?”

Shadow chuckles and ducks his head. “My name’s Shadow for a reason, mate. I just hid long enough that a new guard came in to clean out my cell and left the bars open. I slipped out and made my way up here and, like…”

“Like…?” Louis asks.

“Watched you sleep.”

Louis leans back. “That’s utterly horrifying. Almost trumps the fact that you could kill me at any moment.”

“I’m not gonna kill you, I told you,” Shadow says. He takes a deep breath and slumps down in the folding chair. “I’m here to get you out.”

Louis barks out a laugh, his eyes scrunching closed and his mouth hurting at the edges. “You and I both know if I step a foot outside of this place, it’ll be blown right off.”

Shadow shrugs. “I’d protect you.”

“And what makes you think I’d trust you? My whole life superheroes have been trying to kill me, but this concrete monster has given me fifteen more years of life. And you want me to come with you, out of this room I’ve been in for more than half of my life, and just prance away into the sunset? Bullshit! I’ll perish as soon as I set foot out of here, and that’s all you want me for. To say you ended the madness, you killed the power. You ended the wars forever, and everyone can live peacefully.”

Shadow’s grassy eyes lock with Louis’, cold and hard. “If that’s what I wanted to do, why wouldn’t I have killed you already?”

Louis blinks. Shadow has been sitting with him for some time now. He’s had ample time to slit his throat or asphyxiate him. But he hasn’t. “Why haven’t you then?”

“I like you, Louis.”

“You—what?”

Shadow chuckles. “I like you.”

“Like meaning…?”

Shadow rolls his eyes. “I think you mean well. You’re a nice guy. You don’t deserve to die because of this stupid curse shit.”

It’s then Louis realises Shadow hasn’t made an effort to make any sort of prolonged, power-transferring contact with him. And a tugging feeling pulls at Louis’ stomach and he knows there’s something different about Shadow. Like he’s an actual  _ good _ good. And maybe Shadow’s eyes aren’t cold, they’re concentrating, trying to learn Louis’ soul from the outside.

But he shakes the thought out if his head because that’s nuts and Louis is just tired of tugging himself off at nights when the buzzing from downstairs stops and he knows he won't be bothered.

“You should go,” Louis says, looking out his dusty window. “The kitchen staff will be up to give me breakfast soon.”

He doesn’t look at Shadow at all, but can hear the creaking of the chair as it’s relieved of the weight and the quiet opening and shutting of the door, and the click of the lock.

_ I’ll be back. _

Louis whips his head around, expecting to see Shadow talking to him with his head poked through a crack between the door and its frame. But when he isn’t there, and when he determines that there’s no feet behind the door, he exhales slowly, and speaks back.

_ Was that you? Talking to me? _

He waits a beat before Shadow answers.

_ It was. _

Louis exhales slowly again, rubbing a hand over his face listening to the lock click as the kitchen staff drop off a bagel with cream cheese, some sausage, and ketchup by his door.

_ How can you—why? _

There’s no answer after that. The inside of his head is silence as he brings his bagel back to his bed and munches quietly, placing the sausage and ketchup inside of the cream cheese bagel just the way he likes. He remembers his mum used to eat it that way and he used to think it was disgusting. His first breakfast here was exactly this, and he finally tried it. It reminded him so much of his mum that it’s grown to be his favorite food in the world.

He shuffles over to the bookshelf and pulls out one of the only ‘normal’ books on the shelf, one of seven of the series, and brings it back to his bed, settling down and leafing to the dogeared page.

_ Do you know about any outside world things that have happened? _

The voice startles him again, making him cut himself on the edge of the page he’s on. He sucks on the cut as he answers back.

_ I know about the Twin Towers in New York City. And some other, like, murder things. But nothing else. _

He goes back to reading his book as Shadow doesn’t answer back right away.

_ Gay marriage was declared Constitutional in the United States. That’s where we are, by the way, if you didn’t know. We’re near Area 51. _

Louis sits straight up in bed, throwing the book to the side and bolting to the bookshelf, pulling out the book about his powers, and flips to the back pages where there’s a map of every state in the United States. He searches and searches until he stumbles upon  _ Homey Airport _ in the state of Nevada, with  **Area 51** written in thick black marker just above the words, as if someone knew he was going to be searching for it. He memorizes the spot, sears it into his brain. He flips to the map of the world and looks for the bolded  **YORKSHIRE** he knows to be there, and draws a line from the two bolded words and then sighs. He’s so far away from his home, his mum, his family. He doubts his family even remembers him.

_ Thank you, Shadow _ , he thinks, hoping he hears him.

_ Call me Harry _ , the voice answers.  _ Harry from Cheshire _ .

Louis smiles and looks down, looking at  **MANCHESTER** just below  **YORKSHIRE** . They might’ve passed each other and never known each other.

Sooner than he realises his lunch, and then his dinner are brought to him, as he’s mesmerized by the thought of his mum trotting around the little dot called  **DONCASTER** , not thinking about her missing son. Taking his sisters to dance and theatre lessons and school and to get haircuts. He might have more siblings and not even know it. His mum might have remarried and had babies with another man, and he’d never know it.

He eats his dinner of macaroni and cheese quietly, hating the sound his fork makes as it scrapes to get the last of the cheese. Harry hasn’t said anything for hours, and it shouldn’t make him nervous, but it does.

Sometime after he drifts off to sleep, thunderous claps sound outside his window. Shouting, screaming, cursing as another invasion ensues just metres from his resting body.

He decides it's not worth opening his eyes and just listens to the terrifying noises outside; he can see the flashes of light from behind his eyelids. Shouts and footsteps echo through the base, his heart thudding along with them.

“Scared?”

Louis sits straight up in bed, something he’s fairly used to from the last two days or so, and is met with those eyes staring right back at him. Louis wants to narrow his eyes in anger ( _ why does this motherfucker keep showing up in my room? _ ) but doesn’t have the energy to as a bloodcurdling shriek emits outside of his window. “No. I’m used to it.”

Harry shakes his head, already sitting in the folding chair. “I can feel your fear.”

“You hide in the fucking shadows. You can’t feel my fear.”

“That’s highly untrue,” Harry says. “Since you emit the power, the power is like… like an aura, I suppose. And everyone who has power that comes from you can feel it change with your emotions. Like, someone can tell when you're happy, or sad, or maybe horny. I’m not sure about that one,” Harry shakes his head at himself, like he’s just said the dumbest thing in the world. “The point is, your power changes with your mood. It lessens when you’re sad, strengthens when you’re happy or angry.”

“That’s oddly invasive.”

“Isn’t your whole life invasive? That lad Niall was talking about coming up for another hug. Fucking crook,” he says. “That’s not what you’re made for.”

“Then what am I made for?” Louis asks. “If not to supply the supers with their power, what am I here for? To die? That’s the only way to end this—to kill me. So why don’t you just  _ do _ it?”

Harry looks over at him, and by the way a crinkle forms between Harry’s eyebrows, Louis must look incredibly stressed, but he can’t feel anything but pure anger. “Do you  _ want _ to die?”

Louis looks into his lap, his hands pulling at the blanket draped over his legs. All he fucking does is sit in this goddamn bed. All he does is read the same ten books over and over. All he can fucking see is fucking  _ sand _ . He just wants it to  _ end _ .

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I just want this all to end.”

He doesn’t look at Harry but can feel his sharp intake of breath at Louis’ revelation. “I…”

“What?” Louis asks. “What.”

He finally looks over at Harry and—

He’s crying.

Shadow, Harry, whoever, is fucking crying, and it’s probably because Louis said he wants to die. 

“Why are you crying?” Louis asks.

Harry sniffles and wipes away the lone tear on his face. “Because I’m right here. I could kill you. I mean, I really can’t, but, I  _ could _ . And if you really want to die that badly, I will, because you deserve to go down peacefully. Not like, with a fucking fire hole in your chest. Like, peacefully.”

Louis smiles a little. “Did you just offer to kill me?”

“Do I need to get a ring and get down on one knee?” Harry asks, sheepishly smiling up at him.

Louis sighs. “I just—” he cracks his knuckles and scoots back so his back is against his headboard, “—like, I want to be done. I don’t wanna be here anymore. I want this curse shit to go away. I want to see my mum and my sisters and my friends and have a proper birthday party and get proper Christmas presents and, like, use one of those iPhones or some shit. I don’t wanna be here anymore, mate. It fucking  _ sucks _ being locked up in this room. It’s been 15 years, like. I don’t even think I know how to socialise anymore. If you put me in a room with more than thirty people, like, in a classroom, I think I’d fucking black out. I don’t know how to live anymore. I know how to be alone. And that’s what scares me most. Is that I’ve literally forgotten how to function in society.” His eyes meet with Harry’s watery ones. “Does that make sense?”

Harry stares at him for a long time, what feels like hours. And then he just gets up and leaves. “Wait!” Louis shouts at him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Harry doesn’t wait, just opens the door and shuts it. The lock doesn’t click, and Louis doesn’t think twice before kicking on his shoes and racing after him, letting the brass doorknob smack against the concrete wall of his room. He catches a glance of the bottom of Harry’s heel as he trudges down the stairs, two at a time, as it seems. Louis looks back and forth through the hallway before deciding to follow, heading down as fast as he can, losing the sound of Harry’s footsteps underneath his own. He finally reaches the bottom floor, and stumbles when Harry’s right there in front of him, frozen. Louis crashes right into him, knocking them both to the floor, and only then, when glass punctures his hand, does he take in the scene before him.

The windows and doors he hadn’t noticed his first time down here are all smashed to bits, glass, metal and wood strewn everywhere. The deadbolt on the front door hangs on the wall, glistening in the light coming in from outside. 

“Holy shit,” Harry whispers. “What the  _ fuck _ .”

Louis crawls off of Harry’s back, his mouth hanging open as he looks around the destroyed room. There’s several spots of blood on the floor, and one large puddle, but no owner. A knife lays underneath a piece of the front door, stained a sickly brown color from the dried blood. A light above them sparks and flickers out, little pieces of fire raining down and hitting the concrete, going out in seconds. 

“What—” Louis plucks the glass out of his hand, wincing, “—what the fuck happened?”

“I—I knew there was an invasion, so I just like—I slipped out of my cell to come and visit you and everything was  _ fine _ …” Harry says. “Everything was fine.”

Louis looks over at Harry, whose hand is slowly stroking a dried spot of blood on the wall. “Fine…” Harry says again, as if in a trance.

Louis shuffles farther into the base through the debris, kicking aside wood and marking up his shoes with soot. “This has never happened though,” Louis says. “Has it?” He turns back to Harry.

Harry looks at him, his cheeks red and his hair sticking up in some odd places, his forehead glistening with sweat. “Once before.”

“What? This has happened before?”

Harry turns, placing his back on the wall, and slides down so he’s sitting amongst the destruction. “In like, 2009, I think. The goods somehow got like, super powerful, and the bads weren’t ready, and… we just attacked.”

“We?” Louis asks, stepping closer. “You were with them?”

Harry at first shakes his head, but then nods. “I was pretty young still. I was in training—with this guy named Flame—”

“Flame?” Louis asks. “You trained with Flame?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow, moving some of his sweaty hair out of his face. “Yeah, why?”

“He nearly killed my friend. Like, he has this horrifying limp.”

“Sorry to hear that, but, let me just remind you, mate, that the people protecting you kill people for a living. They’re  _ bad _ at heart, Louis. They’re not like me or Flame. They murder people without a second thought.”

Louis shoves his toe onto a piece of glass, listening to it crunch underneath his foot. “But they’re my friends.”

Harry scoffs and shakes his head. “Anyways, like I was saying: I was training with Flame when we executed this attack. And for some reason we were just—we had a lot of  _ power _ . And we almost got to you, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your room has got, like, super-proof everything.”

“How’d you get in then?” Louis asks.

Harry stops playing with a piece of wood and looks straight ahead, his brows furrowed. “I—I don’t know.”

Louis decides at this point this conversation is going to take a while, and plops himself down next to Harry. “You don’t know how you got in?”

“No I—I have no idea. I don’t think any good has ever been able to get into your room.”

Louis tilts his head back against the wall. “Then how the fuck did—”

“ _ There he is! _ ” 

Louis turns his head and six large men burst into the room, wielding swords, holding fire, poised to kill.

Louis gets up to run but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder as the group advances closer. He turns as Harry stands up, pulls him up with him, and wraps around him. Together they step into the shadow cast on the wall from the light pouring in through the front door.

“Come on, Shadow. Oldest fuckin’ trick in the book. Let us have him,” says the one holding fire.

Harry shuffles them through the shadow, just right next to the door, where the shadow ends and they’d be seen.

“If you don’t move, you’ll stay hidden,” Harry whispers into Louis’ ear, his breath tickling the side of his head. “I’m gonna make a distraction. As soon as I do it, run.”

Louis doesn’t have time to nod or say anything, because Harry let's go and Louis can’t see him anymore. But the next thing he hears is a loud crash and a scream and the six men turn their attention to the kitchen, and Louis bolts.

Not far behind him is Harry, egging him on, willing him to go faster.

_ You look like you haven’t run for like, thirty years _ , Harry says in his head.

_ Half that and you’re right _ , Louis says.

Louis doesn’t know where he is, or what he’s doing, he’s just running. He runs and runs, the hot desert sun beating on his back, Harry eventually catching up to him as he slows down and collapses, tired, hot, and incredibly thirsty.

“I can’t run anymore, Harry. I  _ can’t _ .”

Harry hunches over him, wheezing just as much as Louis, and pats his back. “You’re fine. We’re fine. But we’re also  _ fucked _ .”

Louis flips onto his back and stares up at Harry, his eyes terrified and his mouth hanging open in exhaustion. “Harry,” Louis says as their eyes meet.

“What?”

“Kill me.”

Harry’s mouth closes. “What?”

“I can’t go back there now,” Louis says. “I’ll get killed anyways. It’ll all be over if you kill me. Just do it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the glass that was stuck in his hand. “Do it. Please.”

He hands Harry the glass, taking in the horrified expression on his face. He lets his arm fall back into the sand, and can hear a gunshot in the distance. “Harry,” he says again. “ _ Kill me _ .”

Harry looks about ready to keel over and die himself. Louis has never asked anyone to kill him before (and meant it, anyways), but he can imagine the weight he’s just put on Harry’s shoulders can't exactly be insignificant. 

He’s still hunched over Louis, but now has a piece of glass in his hand, inches from Louis’ face. “How—how do you want me…”

“Slit my throat,” Louis says, swallowing, beginning to sweat. He can feel the blood pumping in his fingertips. “Just fucking do it, Harry.”

Louis watches the mix of emotions that cross Harry’s face. It goes from terrified, with his eyes wide like deer, to awe, as if he admires Louis (which, he probably does. Louis is a very admirable person). And then he looks sad. He kneels down next to Louis, dropping his hand with the glass in it to his side. “I don’t want you to die. I’ve like—as dumb as it sounds, I’ve grown attached to you somehow. It’s really dumb, sorry.”

Louis smiles, feels like it might be his last one ever. “It’s not dumb. It’s really sweet. Like—no one I’ve met has really cared about me for a long time.” Louis clears his throat, his smile faltering. “But I can feel them coming closer, Harry. You need to do this now, before they kill you too. For like, protecting me.”

Harry looks down at his hand, then back into Louis’ eyes, but he quickly looks away again, as if it pains him.

“Okay,” Harry says.

“Okay?” Louis asks.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna do it.”

Louis swallows. “Okay.”

Louis leans back his head and closes his eyes, breathing through his nose as his breaths come increasingly quickly.

A few short seconds later he feels the sharpness of the glass press against his neck, feels it pressing hard into his skin and moving across his neck, feels the blood trickle down to his shirt. He feels a tear slide down his face, and he can hear a sniffle from above him.

The glass leaves his neck and starts back at the beginning of it’s track, retracing and making the cut deeper, and Louis can slowly feel himself slipping away.

“Harry,” he says with the strength he has left. “Harry... thank you.”

He opens his eyes as much as he can and Harry has a pained look on his face. “I’m sorry,” is all Harry says.

And then Harry leans down and touches their mouths together, and Louis’ world goes black.

***

Louis wakes up in a room bathed in white light, beeping sounds all around him. He moves his legs, and immediately notices that the sheets are different than the ones he has in his room. He turns his head to the side and notices a stand, a green line pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He turns his head to the other side and is startled to see Harry sitting in a chair next to him.

“Harry?” he says. Harry jumps, the magazine in his hands falling to the ground flatly.

“You’re awake,” Harry says, turning his chair to face him. “You’re okay.”

“I thought you—didn’t you…” Louis trails off, looking down at his hands.

“It was so weird,” Harry says, “like, one of the weirdest things that’s ever happened to me. I like—I slit your throat and—”

“And you kissed me,” Louis interrupts. Harry looks at the ground for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“‘I slit your throat and you—and you died and then I like… I fell backwards in pain and then I just—you just—” 

Louis stares at Harry, his mouth hanging open, and braces himself when Harry lunges forward and hugs him. And just as quick as it happens, he’s back sitting in his chair like nothing happened.

“You just came back. Like… the cut just went away and you like—I killed the power, not the Louis. And you’re alive,” he says, looking into Louis’ eyes.

“And you kissed me,” Louis says again.

Harry laughs through his nose and looks at the ground, smiling. “Yeah, I kissed you.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugs, still smiling. “I dunno. It felt—right.”

“You knew me for a day. It’s like the weirdest love story ever.”

“I never said it was a love story. I just said kissing you felt right. Is that so wrong?”

“I—” Louis says. He shuts his mouth and looks down. “No. It’s not wrong.”

“Alright then. Good—”

“ _ Louis _ !”

Louis’ head shoots up at the sound of the familiar voice, and is tackled to the bed by a woman in tears. “My  _ baby _ ! You’re alive!”

“Mum!” Louis says incredulously. “I—How did you find me?”

His mum sits them both up, leaning back a little but not letting them go. Louis turns his head to where his mums is facing and listens to her voice for the first time since he was nine. She points to Harry. “This man—this  _ wonderful _ man, dear. He called me, and told me the curse was gone and that you were okay and I jumped on the first flight out here.”

“Where are we, mum?” Louis asks. He pulls her close to her again, not ready to let her go. He may  _ never _ let her go.

“We’re in Nevada, dear. I believe near California. Well, I know near California. That’s where I landed.”

“Mum,” Louis says. “Mum, how’s Lottie? And Fizzy?”

His mum laughs and pulls back with a loud giggle, showing him her ring finger. “Oh dear, you’ve missed so much! Goodness—”

“Um,” Harry says, clearing his throat, “I’ll just uh—I’ll leave you be—”

“Stay,” Louis says, reaching his arm out to grasp at Harry’s. “Stay, please.”

Harry looks back at him, his eyes showing the slightest bit of doubt, but it disappears as quick as a wink. Harry sits down, and Louis smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated, but mean comments are not! if you have a problem with the way that i write, please view one of my other fics for a link to my twitter! thank you :)
> 
> (any spelling errors are mine at this point, also!)


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